


Through Hardships Unnumbered

by Covenmouse



Series: The Lion's Roar [6]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Minor Character Death, light body horror and discussions of illness, questionable parenting skills all around
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 07:04:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20354380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Covenmouse/pseuds/Covenmouse
Summary: Byleth never doubted her father’s affection for her, nor the fact that he was keeping secrets. The contradiction never bothered her. After he’s gone, she assumed the latter went with him.When an inspection of her father’s belongings turns up his old journal, the one she’d believed lost, Byleth soon finds all the answers she could want within her grasp. Answers, yes, and several new, bitterly painful questions. What did Rhea do to her as an infant? What happened to her mother? But most importantly, did Jeralt really view Byleth as a daughter, or a burden?





	1. The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Officially asking canon to hold my beer.
> 
> I'm trying to write these so they're understandable individually, but the beginning of this (prologue & chapter one) takes place directly after Chapter Two of A Dash of Spice. Subsequent chapters will probably interlock similarly with other works.
> 
> This is also an experiment in voice, really. Writing Jeralt as he would write is... something. Words.

The tome was leather-bound and plain; it’s edges torn and spine cracked. It smelled of old ink and glue, and its innards were filled, page by page, with her father’s neat script, detailed line drawings, and old battle plans. 

Byleth sat at the desk, staring absently at the book as she leafs absently through, and tries to feel as though this isn’t an invasion of the highest order.

How many nights had she sat by a campfire watching her father log his day into this book? How many glances had she stolen at it, wondering what all he wrote in here? It was as ubiquitous in their lives as their swords; always present, rarely remarked upon. 

She’d long since given up any hope of being allowed to read it. And now here it was, in her hands, and he was far past the point of objecting.

A terrible thought, but true. 

Was  _ this  _ what Jeralt meant for her to find? She believes it is. She hopes it is, even. He’d told her the gift would be hidden, and she’d found the journal tucked behind a stack of books in the office’s back corner, further obscured by a mannequin of armor. It was hidden. It was important to him. It was the only article of worth in the office. What else could he have left? 

She sighs to herself, about to close the journal when her finger snags on a page that juts slightly out of alignment with its fellows. Curious, Byleth opens that sections and finds herself staring at a page which isn’t part of the text. 

“A letter,” murmurs Sothis. 

Yes, a letter. One that’s been stuck into the book like an afterthought; like a bookmark.

Or like an invitation.

Casting aside her doubts and worries, Byleth sits back, props the journal up on her raised knees, and begins to read.

#

Bye,

I pray you never see this.

I haven’t prayed in two decades. Not really the praying sort—not anymore. You probably don’t understand that just yet, but if you’re reading this letter then you will soon enough. 

But I’m praying now. Praying I’ll find this paper stuck between the pages decades from now, unread by any eyes but mine. Praying I’ll feel like a fool for ever thinking it was necessary. 

Praying ain’t really believing, though, is it? A prayer is a hope. A wish. A plea with something you want to be bigger and stronger than you are; something that can make things happen when you can’t. I thought I gave this nonsense up a long time ago, but here I am again. Praying.

If you’re reading this, then I’ve failed you. Again. I wasn’t strong enough to tell you these things myself. But everything you’re about to read, you need to know. These are things you’ve needed to know for a while, now. Things I wasn’t strong enough to say. 

But you need to know one other thing first, before all the rest:

I love you.

Do you hear me, sweetheart? I love you. Whether or not an afterlife exists, I still love you.

I write it now because I didn’t say it enough. And because the things you’re about to read will be difficult to bear. Crossed my mind that I should edit it all down. Or maybe just write it all here, instead, like this. Condensed and lacking context.

But you deserve better. You deserve to know, and judge for yourself. I’ve owed you that much. So here it is.

I pray you can find a way to forgive me.   


-Dad


	2. Ties That Bind

###  **Day 31 Wyvern Moon, Year 1159**

Just got word: I’m a father. 

I’ve had most of a year to prepare and I still can’t believe it. Hestia and I are parents. I have a daughter.

And here I am, slaughtering bandits in Empire territory because these nobles can’t be bothered to protect their own people. 

Alois is securing a keg to celebrate. Says it's the next best thing to packing me off early to Garreg Mach. Two more days and we can ride. I feel like I could storm the encampment myself, if that meant going home any sooner.

Two more days until I meet my daughter.

Goddess, I hope we haven’t made a mistake.

###  **Day 1 Red Wolf Moon, Year 1159**

Bandits successfully routed. Riding ahead of the cleanup party. 

One more day, Hes. I’m coming home.

###  **Day 5 Red Wolf Moon, Year 1159**

She’s dead. 

I still can’t believe she’s dead. How is it even possible? <strike> I thought </strike>

I never should have left when she was so close. Never should have let her talk me into taking that mission. Anyone could have done it. I didn’t need to go.

Did you know, Hes? Did you know you’d be leaving me this way?

Rhea swears it was your choice. And sure, seems like a thing you would do. Send me away so I couldn’t argue with a decision you already made.

I left, and you’re dead.

Our child lives. If you can call it that.

Something is wrong. It doesn’t cry. Its skin is cold. It's so pale it looks lifeless. It barely moves. 

The nuns whisper that it didn’t even cry at birth. Someone swore it was stillborn. 

Hes, what have we done? What have you left me alone with?

###  **Day 6 Red Wolf Moon, Year 1159**

Dreamed of Hestia covered in blood. Rhea was there. Smiling.

###  **Day 7 Red Wolf Moon, Year 1159**

That nun is gone. The one who said the baby was stillborn. 

Can’t find her anywhere in the abbey. The others tip-toe through the place like it’s haunted. No one meets my eyes.

I can’t bear the sight of that thing.

###  **Day 8 Red Wolf Woon, Year 1159**

Took a swing at Alois. He said I should spend more time with <strike>the kid</strike> <strike>that thing</strike> it. Give it a chance. Told me Hestia wouldn’t want me neglecting it. 

He was right. I know he was. Still didn’t want to hear it.

Went drinking after. Told him I’d try. Never been a good liar, but he believed me. 

He forgave me, too. Might be the worst part.

###  **Day 9 Red Wolf Moon, Year 1159**

They want me to name it. How can I? 

It doesn’t cry. It barely seems aware. It doesn’t even seem human. More like a doll. One that eats and breaths and shits. It’s not a person. It can’t be.

Rhea offered to do it for me. Nearly let her. 

###  **Day 10 Red Wolf Moon, Year 1159**

Rhea says this is normal. That I’m imagining things. That grief does strange things to a person’s mind. 

I want to hate her. But maybe she’s right. Maybe naming the thing would make it easier to deal with, too. 

And damn him, Alois was right. Hestia wouldn’t thank me for treating it her daughter this way. I have to remember that. I have to be better, if only for the sake of Hes’ memory.

But I don’t want anything to do with it. Maybe I should take Rhea’s offer after all. 

###  **Day 11 Red Wolf Moon, Year 1159**

I’ll name it after this next mission. Rhea says she doesn’t want me to go, but I can see the relief in her eyes. Not sure why she cares so damn much. Still, it’s better than being trapped with that thing. 

Trip should take a couple months, easy. That will be enough time. It has to be. 

#

Sitting alone in her father’s old office, Byleth takes a moment to remember how to breathe. Jeralt’s letter warned her that this would be hard to read. That was an understatement. Barely a few pages in and her heart was torn to shreds.

A little under a year ago she’d wondered, for the first time, if he considered her inhuman. Turns out, the answer was yes.

“I love you,” said his letter. He changed his mind. He must have changed his mind. And that doesn’t stop it from hurting all the same.

She skimms the next few pages as his entries devolve into dry, crisp notes about road conditions and skirmishes. The knights had been dispatched to settle a dispute between two noble houses; one Alliance, one Kingdom. Since the involved parties couldn’t come to terms on their own, the Church was playing arbiter. 

The details of the argument aren’t important. Not to Jeralt, who was there, and not to Byleth. She waits with bated breath until the journal picks up with Jeralt’s return to Garreg Mach. 

#

###  **Day 18 Pegasus Moon, Year 1159**

Trip took longer than expected. Was happy about that, for the most part. Guilty, too. 

Getting air was good. Helped. The abbey seems lighter than I remember; happier. 

Was it all in my head, after all?

If it was, what kind of father leaves their own kid so long, with no mother to tend it? 

A shitty one. 

Decided to name it Byleth, for my mother. Figure that should make things easier. Maybe it does. Too early to tell. 

###  **Day 20 Pegasus Moon, Year 1159**

Rhea has a nursery in her office. Nuns say she’s been seeing to the baby personally. They think it’s sweet.

I should be grateful.

###  **Day 21 Pegasus Moon, Year 1159**

<strike>It</strike> <strike>She’s </strike>Byleth is nearly four months old. Still no laughter or tears. No toddler’s babble. She watches me and Rhea intently, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge anyone. 

The one spot of hope I’ve found is the child’s occasional prodding at objects. She ignores toys, but she’s enamored with statues; the saints and goddess in particular. 

Gave her a small goddess figure to see what she’d do. Won’t let go of the damn thing. It’d be cute if it weren't so damned creepy.

Rhea remains unconcerned.

###  **Day 22 Pegasus Moon, Year 1159**

Dreamed of Hestia. She sat by our bedroom window. Hole in her chest. Blood draining down her front. Cradling her still-beating heart like a swaddled baby. 

She wants me to understand.

###  **Day 23 Pegasus Moon, Year 1159**

I had to feed her myself today. First time I’ve held her since… I’m not sure. Maybe since she was born.

She’s warmer than I remember. She’s still pale, but her skin seems more pink than lifeless white. If it weren’t for some of the details I wrote down, I’d think I was completely crazy. Possible I am, anyway. 

She clung to me when I tried to set her down. So I didn’t. Sang her Hes’ song to put her to sleep. Not sure why, but I get the feeling she likes it almost as much as that damned statue.

###  **Day 25 Pegasus Moon, Year 1159**

I am a shitty father.

###  **Day 27 Pegasus Moon, Year 1159**

She turned herself over this afternoon. Was trying to get at an old ragdoll someone put in her crib. First sign of unprompted life I’ve seen from her. 

When I handed her the doll, she smiled. Really smiled. 

She doesn’t look anything like Hes. Thank the Goddess for that much.

###  **Day 29 Pegasus Moon, Year 1159**

Caught myself looking forward to seeing her after training. Still doesn’t respond to peek-a-boo or any of the normal kid games, but I think she was happy to see me. Threw her doll in my face. I deserved it.

###  **Day 30 Pegasus Moon, Year 1159**

Moved Byleth into my quarters. Nuns are concerned. Keep finding excuses to “check in.” Can’t blame them, the way I’ve been acting. Promised I’d be careful. 

Rhea takes Byleth during the day. Can't take her to the training yard with me, right? Too dangerous for a baby.

It’s my fault if Rhea’s a bit possessive. I’m the one who abandoned the kid to her, after all. Me and Hes. 

I  should  be grateful.

###  **Day 1 Lone Moon, Year 1159**

Woke to Hestia standing by the crib, singing. Watching our daughter sleep. Hole in her chest. Blood on the floor. 

It was a dream. Had to be. 

Still happy to see her.

###  **Day 2 Lone Moon, Year 1159**

Byleth smiled at a nun this morning. Woman nearly fainted. Everyone seems more relaxed. How much of that’s in my head?

Kind of hoped I’d see Hestia again.

###  **Day 8 Lone Moon, Year 1159**

Rhea wants me on a mission. Says she’ll move Byleth to her own quarters while I’m gone. Says they’ll be fine. Heard that one before.

Last time I couldn’t leave fast enough. Now I don’t want to budge. 

###  **Day 9 Lone Moon, Year 1159**

Fought with Rhea. She didn’t take kindly to it. Might have said a few things I shouldn’t have. But Alois volunteered to take lead on this mission in my stead. Could have kissed him. 

Rhea’s pissed, but says she’ll allow it. She’ll ‘allow’ it. Like she’s doing me a favour, letting me stay with my own kid. 

No longer sure about leaving Byleth with her, but what can I say against the Archbishop? I’ve already defied her once in public. 

###  **Day 10 Lone Moon, Year 1159**

Rhea confronted me after they left. Says she understands why I feel the need to blame someone for Hestia’s death. She blames herself, too. 

Finally got the full story out of her. Dammit, Hes. How many lies have you told me?

They were aware the birth would have complications. Didn’t want me to worry. Thought they were prepared. 

But Rhea could only save one, in the end. She wasn’t strong enough to choose between her daughter and her granddaughter, so she let Hestia make the call. 

After everything I’ve seen that shouldn’t surprise me, but it did. 

Hestia was Rhea’s daughter? I knew Rhea was special to Hes. I knew Hes was afforded more deference than anyone else here. I always chalked it up to our status.

Her mother. Hestia never told me.

Worse than that, really. Hes flat _ refused _to talk about her family. I figured they were long dead. Thought I understood why she wouldn’t want to speak of them. 

The more I think on it, the more it makes sense. It explains why Rhea’s so attached to Byleth. Why the kid is drawn to her. And about a thousand other things; comments, looks, references between them I’d never fully understood.

It’s all part of this damn game we play, isn’t it? Hazing the lines between generations. Learning new relationships to each other. Pretending with everyone. Walking in and out of our own lives, so no one’s ever the wiser.

It must be harder to juggle with two of them. But as to why Hestia kept all this from _ me _, Rhea doesn’t know. She would have had to have told me eventually. Right?

At least Rhea and I sorted things for now. We cried together. Had some tea. Let Byleth hit me with a doll. Things almost felt normal.

Can’t stop thinking about it, though. Did we cause this? Are we the reason she’s so detached?

If that’s true, what way can there be any way to fix it?

Sothis, if you really exist, tell me how to fix it.

#

Byleth’s fingers tremble as she places the letter inside the book, marking the place past which she doesn’t have the fortitude to read. Not yet. 

“Sothis?”

She isn’t sure if she wants an answer, and she doesn’t get one. The air where that strange child should be is dead as Byleth’s mother.

This is too much. The implications. The answers. They’re all far too much. 

Though there is a real temptation to hide the journal away again, right where her father left it, and pretend that either it doesn’t exist or that she never read it, Byleth knows she cannot. Her lack of imagination aside, if someone else were to find and read this, particularly before Byleth got through the rest…

No. No, that cannot happen.

Neither can she burn it, or shred the pages, or deface it in any way. Despite the maelstrom within, this journal is still part of her father. She could no more destroy it than she could cut the heart from her chest. 

She holds the book firmly against her bosom and waits in the quiet, fire-lit office for her breath to sooth and her mask to slide back into place. She waits until she’s once again the strange, implacable doll her father believed her to be. Only then does she rise, and carry the book with her back to her quarters. She’ll hide it inside her mattress, carefully unraveling then re-stitching a seam so no one will be the wiser. 

Maybe, by the time her class returns from the Rhodos Coast, she will be ready to continue.


End file.
